


Sleeping Habits and Loved Ones

by summercarntspel



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 05:03:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4551564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summercarntspel/pseuds/summercarntspel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a nightmare, and he finds comfort in the arms of a loved one. (i.e. John.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping Habits and Loved Ones

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first proper Johnlock ever so do be kind. Any feedback is welcomed and encouraged, my precious darlings.
> 
> Also, this is un-beta'd, so if anyone wants to offer up some skills for my next story, let me know.

John was dreaming. Peacefully, blissfully, dreaming, burrowed down deep in his bed, sheets tangled around his ankles as he let out soft little sores.

It wasn't a sensible dream; the good ones never were all that sensible. He was flying about in London, piloting a magic carpet much like the one in Aladdin, which he had settled down to watch as it played on the telly earlier that evening.

He told himself it was because Sherlock was working and he knew the musical cartoon would annoy the other man, especially when he was conducting some experiment involving kidneys, but, truth be told, he'd always had a soft spot for Disney.

So, he was dreaming, mindlessly asleep and unaware of any problems of the world. No crime scenes, no serial killers, no secret bombers or art thieves or smugglers. Just glorious, wonderful sleep.

That is, he was, until he heard his bedroom door creak open, heavy footsteps thumping inside like a confident elephant had chosen the flat as its proverbial stomping ground, and something, or perhaps someone, plopped down on the edge of his bed, causing the mattress to dip.

Military training had caused him to be a light sleeper, which Sherlock's late nights had mostly cured him of by that point, but this kind of disturbance still woke him instantly, and he was sitting straight up in bed, rubbing sleep from his tired eyes before a single moment passed.

"What's-Sherlock?" John asked tiredly, a large yawn escaping him a moment later as he stared at his flatmate, concern painting its way across his features in the dim light brought in via the lamppost outside his far window.

Sherlock just sat there, staring at John, looking a mess.

He was in his ordinary pajamas, a loose-fitting t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants that he never wore out of the house, regardless of the situation, topped of with an expensive, navy blue dressing gown draped around him, the belt left untied.

None of that really caught John's attention, though.

What did, of course, was the disheveled mop of dark curls tangled on top of his flatmate's head, his red-rimmed eyes, and the shine of sweat on his forehead and exposed throat.

"What's wrong?" John asked, despite the fact that he already had a fairly clear idea of the answer he'd receive. He knew the look of someone who'd just awoken from a terrible nightmare.

Sherlock blinked once, twice, brought a hand up to roughly wipe away a tear threatening to escape his left eye, then stared at John.

"You know what happened."

John nodded, pulling one of his pillows up to rest against the headboard of his bed, allowing himself to lean against it as he crossed his arms, a worried look on his face.

"Yeah. Well, I suppose so, anyway," John sighed softly, his eyes never leaving the dark figure of his flatmate perched on the corner of his mattress, "What... I don't want to ask what you're doing here, but...? Is there something you want me to do?"

Sherlock flushed, and John noticed the tint that covered his high cheekbones even in the darkness of the room. He was clearly embarrassed, but his eyes never left John's, so he couldn't have been that ashamed, could he?

"I... Well, I've been studying sleep habits off and on for quite some time, as you often insist that my personal habits are detrimental to my health and my thought process. I read an article on common practices after nightmares, and I just..."

"What, Sherlock, what do you need?" John asked again, his voice softer this time, just barely above a whisper as he frowned at the slump of Sherlock's shoulders.

The younger of the two men sighed, running his fingers through his tangled hair gently to collect himself before he stared back at John.

"I was wondering if I could perhaps... sleep in here? With you?" Sherlock questioned, studying John's reaction carefully, "It's been scientifically proven that the comfort of a loved one significantly lessens the chance of a nightmare, and also helps to calm a victim of one down much faster than if he was to stay on his own."

John tried to ignore the way his stomach twisted when Sherlock referred to him as a "loved one," but he still felt like he might turn his head and be sick all over his bedroom floor.

They'd been bouncing in this noncommittal limbo for longer than John could remember. And, honestly, Sherlock's sudden desire to be more forward than simply offering lingering glances and a touch to John's forearm made the uneasy feeling that had taken a permanent residence in the doctor's stomach feel both better and worse.

"Before you fret about people speaking, no one has to know. No one, John. I just... I need to sleep after the finished case this afternoon and you know I'll be bloody insufferable, in your own words, if I don't get a few hours in, as much as I hate to admit it, and I-"

"Come here," John cut him off swiftly, scooting over a bit so that there was room for Sherlock in his bed, patting the free side as Sherlock stared at him, not seeming to understand, "Come on then, I don't bite. You do need to sleep, and it's fine. It's all fine. Just settle in so I can get some rest, too, yeah?"

Sherlock sat still for another moment, then he practically scrambled to the side of the bed offered to him, nestling himself under John's sheets and fluffy duvet so quickly John could have laughed.

"Thank you," Sherlock blinked, curling in on his side like an infant, rolling so he faced his favorite blogger, "I know I don't express my fondness for you often, not aloud, anyway, but believe me when I say that you're the one person in the world I care the most about, John."

John smiled slightly, butterflies filling his belly as he mimicked Sherlock's position and sighed. He was quite used to sleeping on his back, but this angle was more comfortable than he would have originally assumed.

"More than Mrs. Hudson?" John teased, staring at Sherlock for a moment before he reached a callused hand up to brush an unruly curl out of his flatmate's bright eyes.

Sherlock allowed the smallest and sweetest of smiles to grace his features, causing his expressive eyes to sparkle as he leaned into John's touch the tiniest amount.

"My fondness for Mrs. Hudson is different," Sherlock stated, no heat or irritation behind his explanation, "She brings biscuits and allows me to keep human body parts in the refrigerator without raising my rent. You... you're different. You make me tea and let me play my violin until four in the morning and never get tired of Chinese takeaway."

A soft chuckle escaping him, John let out another yawn, shaking his head at his flatmate.

"You sound like you have some feelings you need to air out, Sherlock..."

"Mm..." the younger of the two hummed in agreement, heavy eyelids slipping closed, "In the morning, John. Nightmares drain me and I need to participate in the boring task of sleeping like you dull humans."

John flicked Sherlock's nose in retaliation for his remark, smiling when Sherlock let out a little giggle at the gesture, and wriggled himself a bit closer.

"Do you need me to hold you?" John asked seriously, tugging the covers up a bit more over their bodies, "Sometimes that helps after a nightmare..."

Eyes flickering open for a moment, Sherlock released a sleepy sigh and pushed a shoulder up in a shrug with what looked like an excessive amount of effort.

"Just being here is fine, John... I don't want to put you off..."

At that, John reached an arm out and slid it over Sherlock's waist, tugging him close and allowing the other man to bury his face in John's chest.

"Goodnight then, Sherlock," John whispered into messy curls, finding that they tickled his nose in a way that was not bothersome enough to push Sherlock away.

And, even if it was bothersome, John knew he couldn't, wouldn't, find it in his heart to push Sherlock away, anyway.

John received no reply for quite some time, minutes dragging on and time slowing as the doctor began to drift back into sleep.

The last thing he heard before he completely lost consciousness, giving it up for his forty winks, was a quiet but happy voice breathing out two words into the t-shirt he'd worn to bed.

"Goodnight, John."


End file.
